


sugar honey iced tea

by kerrykins



Category: Sharp Objects (TV)
Genre: Angst(?), F/F, My First Work in This Fandom, fiction&femslashevent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 07:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerrykins/pseuds/kerrykins
Summary: Adora and Jackie are friends to some extent.





	sugar honey iced tea

**Author's Note:**

> [taps microphone] i don't go here but hey take these two drabbles! i apologise for any errors or ooc behaviour, i'm still trying to get a grip on these characters
> 
> thank you local legends alwine and pati for dragging me into this pairing

Marion’s funeral was more of a party than anything else. Jackie and Adora sat next to each other in front of the open casket, hands intertwined. It was the first time Camille had ever seen her mother hold hands with someone so tightly and for so long. 

When Jackie pressed her lips to Adora’s ear, Camille looked away— as if the two women were sharing a secret she wasn’t supposed to know about. It was just the four of them in the pretty pink walls of Marion’s room. The wallpaper of pastel flowers and rose stems had seemed appropriate once upon a time, when a little girl lived and breathed here. Chalky light filtered through the lace curtains, a freshly-ironed nightgown sitting on Marion’s bed, as if Adora was expecting her to come home after a long day at school. Camille wondered what would become of this room after the funeral but couldn’t bring herself to come up with any predictions.

Her mother’s blonde curls were pinned back, her porcelain-white face fresh and dry. Camille had hoped to see at least one tear, evidence of her grief, that she wasn’t ice-cold at her core— but alas. Jackie looked no different than she did on any other day, a glass of alcohol perched in her hand, dark circles under her eyes. There was no mistaking, however, the wetness on her cheeks when she murmured something to Adora, who was shaking her head. Her mother wore dark sunglasses much too big for her face to hide her tears, or rather lack thereof.

Camille pretended not to notice when Jackie brushed her mouth to Adora’s cheek. They’d probably forgotten she was even in the room. That wasn’t any kind of kiss one would give to a friend, even one that was grieving. It was raw and red with the mark of Jackie’s lipstick.

Camille shouldn’t judge. People had their own ways of grieving.

___

  
  


It all began with a pitcher of iced tea on Calhoun Day. One goddamn pitcher that got yanked from the tablecloth when Amma and the other kids were playing tag in the yard. The iced tea splashed across the front of Adora’s white dress, the dress that Jackie had admired this morning when Adora gave a charming little spin to show it off.

The people of Wind Gap eyed Adora warily, well-accustomed to her theatrics and tendency to blow situations out of proportion; especially Camille, who watched with a detached expression, clearly expecting to receive some form of blame for this accident. Adora never left that poor girl alone.

“Oh dear.” Adora gave a long-suffering sigh, her face shrouded by the brim of a sunhat. “Can’t even throw a proper Calhoun Day celebration with something going wrong, can I?” Before she could open her that lovely, cruel mouth of hers to say more, Jackie took her by the arm. She knew what all the onlookers were thinking— poor Jackie, always having to fix Adora’s messes. It was rather the contrary. Jackie never thought of taking care of Adora as anything like a chore, more like a favour that would never be repaid, but she was still happy to do it.

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up, Adora.” Jackie guided her back inside the house with quite a bit of resistance from Adora, who scolded her for making a scene. They both knew that Adora really preened under the attention, had an inexhaustible hunger for it. That was her sickness.

Jackie knew this house like the back of her hand, could find her way in and out in complete darkness. She led Adora up the creaking staircase, the polished wood of the railing smooth and cool on her fingers. As much as Jackie hated this place, which reeked of death and ugly lies, it was home. The olive-green wallpaper and frilly furniture made Jackie uneasy, those packets of nothing arranged in an even emptier house.


End file.
